


they tell me you’ve touched the face of God

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Five loves all his siblings but he’s an emotionally stunted 58 yr old boy, Five needs a hug 2k19, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Just suffering that’s all this is, Klaus WHY YOU GOTTA BE SO HARD TO WRITE, Klaus is a good brother, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like mne ;-;, panic attacks?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 01:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Klaus would recognize that thousand-yard stare anywhere.





	they tell me you’ve touched the face of God

Five had no idea what triggered it.

He’d just been sitting there, kicking his legs beneath the table, wishing that he was tall enough for them to reach the floor, mouth pulled down in a frown as he sulked into his coffee. Klaus was slumped over the other end of the table, probably high as a kite but at least not bothering anyone at the moment.

He’d leaned back into his seat and breathed in, and it must’ve been then, when he closed his eyes, and smelled something burning, probably food residue, on the stove. 

Five opened his eyes again, something from his memory clicking into place, and he straightened, jolting upwards.

Something _was_ burning.

It was the _academy._

 _It_ _was_ _the_ _world._

Five stood, whipping around, panicked- no! He’d just been! His shoes slipped in the rubble as he clambered out of the ruins, ash already streaked on his clothes and hair. The sky was painted in shades of blood.

He stood still for a moment, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He wouldn’t break down- he wouldn’t-! But he’d been there! He’d made it back- hadn’t he?

Klaus had been with him? Right?

His voice was shrill and desperate and full of utter terror, hoarse from the smoke already, "Klaus!"

But no there no answer just flames and the wind and the silence- the unbearable _silence_. Five slipped down the pile of cracked bricks, "Klaus! Luther, Diego, Allison! Vanya!"

There was no response and his voice cracked, "Hello?"

It must’ve all been a dream. But no- it couldn’t- the Commission- the apocalypse- he had to- he had to save them! He sat down, hands twisted in his hair. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _think_. His heart was too loud in his ears. ( _Too_ _damn_ _young_ _and_ _too_ _damn_ _late-!_ )

He had to save them.

He had too.

And then something slammed into him and he coughed, gasping, wheezing and Klaus was holding him by his shoulders, eyes blown wide, " _Oh_ _oh_ _this_ _ain’t_ _good._ _Five!_   _Five_ _lil_ _buddy,_ _c'mon._ _You_ _gotta_ _breathe!_ "

Five was disoriented, he was thirteen again with his knees scraped and fingers coated in the soot of a dead world and his mind a thousand miles away in the _past_ - _that_ - _was_ - _the_ - _future._ The burning glow of a red dying sun looming over an empty wasteland with the broken ruptured bodies of his family scattered beneath him _so_ _much_ _blood_ seeping in to _stain_ and _twist_ and _corrupt_ the _burning_ \- _always_ _burning_ \- fractured earth below, "Klaus? What’re you doing here?"

"What?"

He rubbed at his eyes, "This can’t be real you were dead. You were all dead."

Klaus or not-Klaus looked at him brows furrowed, and then he seemed to light on an idea, yanking him forward. Five didn’t struggle, too surprised to react as he was pulled into the crook of his shoulder, his soft feathered coat scratchy and thick and _real._

When was the last time he touched someone?

It almost seemed too much in the moment. His fingers curled around the back of it, pulling to test its weight and he could cry- _was_ crying- Klaus was real he wasn’t one of those figments that showed up to wail and curse and ask him why he’d run away, why he’d failed them all.

Five didn’t know how long they sat there, his face buried in Klaus's old musty coat, his erratic breathing settling into something normal again as he tried to deny that even though this closeness seemed to be too much, that he was hanging on for fear he’d be left alone again.

He didn’t want to open his eyes and see that this was real. But he had too.

He sniffed, made the leap, and pulled backwards hesitantly.

They were in the academy.

They were _home_.

He was still in his chair, Klaus kneeling in front of him looking surprisingly sympathetic, "You back with us?"

Five scrubbed at his face, cursing his lapse, "I’m fine. It was nothing."

He glowered at Klaus's disbelieving snort, "I’m fine." He bat away one of Klaus's hands.

Klaus pouted, retracting it like he’d been personally wounded. He added jokingly, "You know... fine stands for freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional."

"What?"

"What I'm saying is," he snapped imaginary suspenders, voice turning nasally, "My prognosis is that you’re _not_ fine, Five, ol' boy."

Five grumbled, realizing only afterwards that he’d probably revealed too much, "It’s nothing I’m not used too."

Klaus's face screwed up but he didn’t say anything.

Five looked away from the impromptu staring contest and Klaus sighed, "I’m only returning the favor, buddy."

Five's bewildered look prompted an explanation which Klaus gave with a flippant giggle, as if it wasn’t as big a deal as it was, "You were always there to calm me down after Dad's," his long fingers made mocking air quotes, "cemetery sessions."

Five looked down again as he twisted his irritatingly young and small fingers in his lap. He hated this weakness especially when they didn’t even have _time_ for this weakness.

Klaus was being surprisingly patient. Five almost choked on his next words, "When I... I time traveled back then. To a few days from now."

He felt compelled to tell someone. Anyone. Vanya meant well, but at least Klaus might be crazy enough to believe him.

He was quiet, his old brashness faltering in the face of his overwhelming exhaustion, "In a few days. The world ends." He looked up at his brother, "And everyone, _everyone_ , dies." 

Klaus's brow furrowed, "Soon?"

"Very soon, all of you, everyone, dies. The world is," he clenches his hands into a fist, "The world is wrecked. There’s nothing."

Klaus seems disturbingly unconcerned about this fact yet again. Five hates it. Hates that they never seem to take him seriously. Didn’t they understand? The literal end times. The curtain's last fall. The End.

Klaus asks, eyes wide, pupils still dilated and voice unnaturally high and breathy, "You saw _us_ didn’t you?"

Five looks him in the eyes, astonished, as he continues, "That’s why you’re so adamant. Not just about this apocalypse. You actually saw us, dead, didn’t you?"

Five swallows and shrinks inwards trying to muster up his usual brusque exterior but it seems to have been stripped away along with his skill at deflection, "Everyone dies."

Five waits. He waits for Klaus to crack a joke. To laugh, to giggle, to act like a madman. To welcome the end like he usually does.

Instead Klaus gives him some strange fragile half smile, "You act like you don’t care. But you care the most out of all of us don’t you?"

Five is too old for this.

He straightens, frowning at his childlike legs about forty five years too young for him and tries to sound like he’s not in denial, "I _don’t_ care." He mutters unconvincingly, "Can’t live in a world if it’s all gone to shit."

Klaus recognizes that he’s gotten too close to Five's truth, that he’s once again seen too much, for him to be comfortable.

He returns to normalcy with a laugh and a quip, "Hasn’t it already?"

Klaus stands and backs away watching Five sniff and move his chair back to the table, slumping over it again, head resting on his arms.

He’s about to leave when Five murmurs, the threat half hearted at best and lacking the real steely venom it usually had, "If you tell _anyone_ about this I’ll make sure you won’t be able to say anything again."

"Wouldn’t dream of it." He wants to stay but he gives his brother some space, blows a kiss, and shuts the door softly behind him.

Five cups his hands around his now cold coffee, "Well that was a shitshow." He sighs and tries to pretend he doesn’t miss his brother's presence. But he’s lived without his family for so long that it doesn’t take much effort to bury those thoughts.

He has an apocalypse to stop.

And then when it’s all over- and if the world is still standing then, maybe then, he’ll dig them up.

But not now.

He can’t afford to care now.

 _He_ _can’t._

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr and share in my suffering: https://socialanxietyandotherthings.tumblr.com


End file.
